


Is Living, Will Live

by gemmaspumpkins



Category: Red Rising Series - Pierce Brown
Genre: Dark Age Spoilers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemmaspumpkins/pseuds/gemmaspumpkins
Summary: Major Dark Age spoilers. Don't read unless you've finished it! This is a scene that takes place in Dark Age Chapter 61 from Rhonna's perspective. That's kind of all I can say without spoilers, so read it, I guess?
Relationships: Alexandar au Arcos/Rhonna
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Is Living, Will Live

**Author's Note:**

> Shortly after I finished Dark Age, I had an idea for a three part Alexandar/Rhonna series, but I forgot the other two parts. I still wanted to get this one out there though. :)

Rhonna curses her Red legs more deeply than she ever has. She sprints after Darrow, who is barely slowed by what he carries. 

What, not who. She does not allow herself to hope. She has not allowed herself, not since the tunnels were collapsed. So since she does not hope, she only runs. Darrow’s speed left the door open, and she stops short next to him, Alexandar already laid down, already swarmed by medici, she realizes a moment later. 

But in that moment, hope returns. A heartbeat. A breath. 

“Alexandar!” She meant to offer a quip, a greeting, but there was so little beyond the heartbeat, the breath. Both are so weak. There were times he had not been quippy -- after all, their jobs, their whole lives, really, were terribly serious and often sad. But he was at a loss for more than words. “Alexandar…” 

There is not much left of him. Finally, he murmurs something her Red ears can not decipher, and she curses them again, as she has a million times since she was pulled out of the mines. 

She begins screaming, but the medici barely look up from their tasks - they certainly don’t have the answers she is looking for. She calms and reaches slowly, as if to stroke some part of him, but the medici rush him out, continue on to surgery, and she is left alone. Darrow squabbles with a medicus, then turns back to her. 

It’s too much. She sinks to the floor, like she did a million times in those tunnels. 

And now, like in the tunnels, it is time to wait. And wait. And wait. She isn’t sure if she sleeps or not, but a group gathered around, and as she looks up, she does not remember it amassing so quickly. All of them have hope - hell, some are even giddy. When Darrow arrives, she sleeps the quick sleep that comes with being a soldier, knowing he will wake her if there are any updates.

Every time a door opens, one of them, if not both, jolt up. Usually it is just a lower level medici passing by, or the occasional fan or friend joining the fray. 

But finally, their alertness is rewarded - a medicus stands at attention in front of Darrow and tells him that Alexandar is in stable condition.

"Stable condition? That mean he's alive?" Rhonna interrupts - the term does not seem promising for his future. She tries not to imagine him living chained to a hospital bed the rest of his life.

"He is living, will live." The medicus clarifies dryly. Rhonna doesn't respond, and so he continues. "He's awake and lucid and should recover fully." 

Rhonna nearly jumps out of her seat, but even with the good news, the medicus will not let them in, so instead she lolls back to sleep, and even sitting up, surrounded by people, it’s a more peaceful sleep than she has had in weeks. 

When the morning comes, Darrow motions her to go in. She had not expected to be alone. She thought she would simply look on as Darrow had his visit. But this is no treat as she sees the tubes, the wires. “Living” to a dry, orderly medicus is not the same as being alive. She takes a deep breath. He is hooked up to all kinds of machines, but she can see immediately that he is awake, lucid, as the medicus promised. Alexandar sees her too, and his face lights up - as best as it can without teeth or all the other missing parts. There are so many missing parts. 

The only thing left is him. 

She rushes to his side, to be sure he is real. In that moment — though she has seen him shirtless countless times — she pauses, her hand an inch from his face. She has never felt compelled to touch him, but after all the waiting it is almost like seeing him is not enough to prove he is living, will live. 

“You’re biting your nails," Alexandar coughs. "Didn’t Darrow tell you I said to stop that?” he says, his voice giving out at the end, but still managing a crooked smile and a glimmer in his eye. 

“I did quit, till they filled the tunnels,” she responds, realizing a heartbeat too late that it may not have been the lighthearted response he was looking for. She’s already decided she will not ask him what happened - that will come later. “Glad you’re alive, princess,” she offers instead. 

“Me too.” He says. He seems to just be taking her in, as if he is in as much disbelief as she is. 

She takes a deep breath. 

“Eighty three thousand, four hundred twenty six.” 

“Hmm? Is that how much money Calloway lost betting I was dead?” Rhonna smiles, for real this time. He’s back. He’s still in there somewhere. She thinks about continuing the ribbing, as she would have before, and she will. But first - 

“It’s the number of refugees from Tyche. They lived because of you.” She knows he would want to know, but he would never ask. What if it were zero? Or almost worse, what if he asked, and everyone thought him only in it for the glory? That may not be worse for everyone, but it was worse for him, and she knows it. His reputation preceded him, and his ambition often made him out to be some sort of power or glory hungry tagalong. But Rhonna knew he wasn’t. She had spent so much time trying to find faults in the Gold that she was one of the few who realized how invested in the cause he truly was. She knew he was in it for the right reasons, and he was in so much deeper than most. And he had done that, saved so many lives. He deserved to know it had not been in vain. 

He nods solemnly. It’s good news, but it’s not a joyful memory for either of them. After a moment, he speaks again. 

“You didn’t hear me yesterday, did you? When I saw you?” She shakes her head. “Pity. For you. Saves me plenty of embarrassment.” He brightens almost imperceptibly. “So while I may not have teeth or hair, at least I have my dignity I suppose,” he says, and she takes the bait this time.

“It’s too bad your hair and teeth were the only things you had going for you. Guess I’ll have to find some other princess to harass,” she says with a mock shrug. 

“Ah but those things will grow back, unlike the foot and a half missing from your -” he attempts to gesture, but realizes his arms are covered in tubes and needles. “Your height. You get the joke. Pretend I’m making it standing up, you know, lots taller than you.” She remembers how he would rest his arm on her head, so annoying at first, but something she would have given up her mech bolts to feel again while she waited in the tunnels. 

“Mhmm.” She says, laughing, but distracted by the memory. 

“You have me in a hospital bed, no hair, no teeth, no ears, and the best you can do is ‘Mhmm’?” She laughs again. In all her searching for flaws, she had not found many. But she clears her head and responds. 

“I thought you were dead. Forgive me for not believing in ghosts.” She tries to laugh. He’s figured out how to maneuver his hand and reaches for her. 

“Not a ghost. Close. But not a ghost - yet. Though it would be fun to haunt you, I suppose. Follow you around. Put things just high enough to be out of reach, that sort of thing.” She laughs, but is still deep in herself, willing herself to believe he’s here and he’s holding her hand, and it is solid and real and feels so natural, and warm, despite everything. 

He is no ghost, he’s real, he’s here, he’s talking, and almost laughing, and here. 

“Two short jokes in a row?” She finally retorts. “Thought they didn’t alter your mind, princess?” She tries to wink, but realizes her eyes are watering. “But look at you, you’re alive! Not much else, but that’s a start.” 

“Yes, I’ll start reading up on joke compendiums. I’m sure there’s not much to do around here but lounge, read the classics, drink fine wines, be fed grapes, that sort of thing.” 

“Truly,” Rhonna replies in kind, matching his lackadaisical tone, and adding her own mocking Gold accent. “We are simply starved for things to do. Everyone out there is only there because they are so bored and there’s no other diversions than waiting on sick Alexandar to wake up and tell them a story.” Her eyes twinkle, but his eyes shift. 

He realizes this will not go on forever, there are other people, other callings. He cannot live in this near perfect moment, holding her hand, trying to brush up on his wit. He will have to tell his story, soon, and multiple times. It will not be easy. 

He will have to relive so much horror - but not yet. For one more moment, he will feel her hand, look at her - 

“Are you crying? Rhonna! By Jove! Have I been gone so long you’ve gone sentimental in your old age?” She grins and wipes the single tear with her free hand, not wanting to let go of his. “I didn’t even know they gave Rusters tear ducts,” he continues. “Maybe I do have some learning to do.” Rhonna laughs, and tears up again. 

He’s here. 

In the laugh they share, they both shift.

“Reap’s waiting out there too, isn’t he?” Alexandar asks. She nods. He says something quietly, and she leans in, but he doesn’t repeat himself. She looks around for a medicus in case something is wrong. But he straightens as best he can in the bed, and his voice is more solid. 

The moment is over. He’s no longer just hers. He is a soldier, a lancer, a peerless scarred - yes, Darrow told her he offered the scar, and even if no one else knew, she would know and remember his honor in earning it, and in rejecting it. He is now a Howler - she knows the cloak came back, but he'll have his own in due time, and she thinks his biggest struggle will be allowing it to get as dirty and mangy as the rest. Now, as one back from the dead, he will be a symbol. He is so many things to so many people, and he will be them all so well. Maybe one day, when this is over, she will have all the time in the world to have him to herself. But these few moments will have to do for now. 

“Well, then it’s time. Go get the boss. But you come back too. I like this too much,” he nods his head down, grinning. She pulls her hand away, suddenly self conscious. “Not that, I mean you staring at my chest.” She rolls her eyes. “Openly at least. Not trying to hide it like all those other times.” He attempts a wink, and fails. His breath is ragged again. She isn’t sure if it is a laugh or a medical issue. 

“Your ego certainly hasn’t been bruised,” she says, “Nice of them to spare one thing, I guess.” She turns toward the door, but then back to the medbay bed, where Alexandar is watching her with a strange look on his face. “But, Princess, I would have picked your hair.” 

He’s here.


End file.
